


Something for You

by Amuscaria



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuscaria/pseuds/Amuscaria
Summary: Alayne Stone has a gift for a mysterious knight.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 151





	Something for You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuchaHag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuchaHag/gifts).



> This is my Sansan Secret Santa gift for @l60014 on tumblr, the inspiring prompt was "I've got something for you". Thanks a lot for a great prompt and sharing many interesting thoughts on Sandor!  
> Merry Christmas and happy new year of SanSan!
> 
> As usual, everybody in this story is aged up, English is not my native language, I don't have a beta... and sorry for any potential mess :)

“I have something for you,” Sansa whispered, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be Sansa, but she couldn’t be Alayne in this moment. She’d braided her hair like Catelyn Stark today, she wore a grey dress and under her sleeve there was a delicate bracelet decorated with a wolf sigil. She’d come here to be Sansa Stark again. She was sick of lying and for once, she wanted the truth. Even if it wasn’t pretty.

The man slowly turned around, staring at her. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he didn’t try to remove the shawl wrapped around his face. He just met her eyes, silently acknowledging her presence.

He had beautiful, deep eyes, but something about them startled her. This wasn’t the gaze she’d expected. Sansa had hoped the man would have grey eyes, she’d got that right. She’d expected the piercing, thoughtful look. But most of all, she’d thought she’d see anger, even rage. Hate. Instead of that the eyes staring back at her were calm, kind. And heartbreakingly sad. Sansa swallowed. Could she have been mistaken?

The man was enormous, like a mountain of muscles and pure strength. Ever since the mysterious knight had arrived to the Vale, he’d never showed his face to anyone, wearing his helmet constantly. Now he had a shawl wrapped around his face, even though the weather wasn’t so cold yet. People said he’d suffered horrific injuries in the war and his entire face had been bitten off by a direwolf. Or perhaps it had been burnt off. Either way, the man had apparently lost his voice, too. There were many men like that these days, many men got disfigured during the many battles. But Sansa didn’t believe the story about the mysterious knight at all, she didn’t believe a single word. He’d fought in the Battle of Blackwater, alright. But he was silent, because it was his choice. He wore the shawl and the helmet, because he didn’t want to be recognized. He didn’t want to be recognized by her, by Sansa. 

But she knew those broad shoulders, the strong body, the way it moved, she recognized even the tuft of black hair that always peeked out of the collar. The posture was familiar, too, the giant was shielding her from the world. He was standing in front of her as a wall of protection, something she’d so dearly missed. She knew those grey eyes, even though the familiar anger in them had disappeared. She knew him. This was Sandor Clegane, this man right here. Not the man who was raping women in Saltpans, that could never have been Sandor Clegane. This was him, this. The man who had come to the tourney, who was there to see her. Surely, he’d come to see her. Perhaps… perhaps even to help.

Sandor Clegane had wanted to rescue Sansa. Back when she’d been kept against her will in King’s Landing, he’d come to her during the Battle of Blackwater and he’d offered to take her home, take her north. She’d refused, she’d been so stupid she’d refused. He’d been terribly drunk, and she’d been frightened. She’d refused and he’d left. The Lannisters then married her to the Imp, who had sparred her only by some miracle. He hadn’t raped her, but now that she was in care of Petyr Baelish, she wasn’t so sure of her future.

Clegane was here, though, he was alive. She’d never wanted to believe that he was dead and she’d kept praying for him no matter how horrible news she’d heard. And the Seven had heard her out, they’d brought him back to her. Lately, she’d been seeing the seven-pointed star everywhere, she’d suddenly started encountering many brothers of the faith. And whenever she’d noticed these obvious signs, he was there, the mysterious knight staring back at her. It couldn’t be a coincidence. 

It was him. The mysterious knight was Sandor Clegane. He’d come to the Vale to take part in the upcoming tourney. She hadn’t believed her own senses at first, she’d thought she was imagining things. But now, after she’d seen his horse, she was certain. There was no other horse quite like that black stallion, there was no other man who’d ride it. And she’d get Sandor Clegane to confess to her, to tell her why he’d come. They were alone, why hadn’t he showed her face yet? The silence between them was unbearable.

„I’d like to…” she swallowed. „I’d like to give you my favour.”

Now there was at least some surprise in his eyes, good. There was more than just sadness left in this man. Why didn’t he speak? It was getting more and more frustrating. If he was there to rescue her, shouldn’t he speak to her, too? Or did he think he could just throw her over his shoulder and take her away like a brute? Well… may be Sansa wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that idea. But he should introduce himself before doing that, anyway!

„I hope you win, ser,” she used the title Sandor Clegane had loathed, but it got no reaction this time. „I hope that very much. You… you remind me of someone, you know?” she continued purposefully. “Long time ago I wanted one knight to win in a tourney, too. I didn’t give him my favour, because I thought he’d snap at me and be angry. But I prayed for his victory, anyway. And he won, just like I wanted, like he deserved. He won a great tourney.”

The mysterious knight didn’t move, frozen.

Sansa grabbed his hand to give him her favour. He let her do whatever she wanted, never stopping her. Sansa looked down, realizing he wasn’t wearing gloves. And those hands, Sansa would recognize them anywhere. She caressed the hand she was holding. It was huge, hairy and awfully rough. It was not at all pretty, it spoke of hard labour and many injuries. Alayne had always liked those hands, she didn’t even know why.

Sansa blinked, realizing she was still distractedly stroking his hand. Oh dear, this was embarrassing. And she was blushing now, making it even worse. This wasn’t very proper, she had to focus. The swordsman already looked alarmed. Grey eyes, grey eyes full of questions and worry. It was him, it was! Why wouldn’t he speak to her? There was no way he thought she was indeed Alayne, Littlefinger’s bastard daughter. Her hair wasn’t auburn anymore, she kept dying it to make it brown, but that would never fool this man. He’d come to the Vale for a reason, he wanted to see her. So why wouldn’t he speak?

Sansa finally let go of his hand. “I even wear his cloak. He left it with me, so I have dyed it to hide some stains and sewn it to have a hood. You see?” Alayne showed him. “I wore it the day I escaped from… from a great danger. Whenever I wear it, it protects me. Just like him.”

Still no response, but now the giant was staring at the cloak, astonished. That was encouraging, Sansa wouldn’t give up. She’d win this battle, she would.

“The man had worn a green cloak the day he won the tourney, too,” she looked pointedly at the knight’s olive-green tunic. “I think… I think it’s his favourite colour.”

He met her eyes again. There was still no anger in them, he looked more scared than anything else. As if he’d seen a ghost.

Well, that made two of them. Sansa, too, felt, as if this couldn’t be real. But it was. And he had to admit it, tell her the truth. She hadn’t heard truth in such a long time, everybody kept playing their games, nobody even remembered what was real anymore. The Hound, though, he liked the truth, didn’t he? „He was very brave, you know?” Sansa added quietly. “I wish I had told him how much I wanted him to win. In everything. He’d been my protector, my only protector in King’s Landing. And I never gave him my favour.”

The man’s eyes glittered, and he looked down at the ribbon in his hand, caressing the embroidered bird with his thumb.

“It’s said that tying the ribbon around the wrist or something ties luck to the man. Or it can be displayed on the armour,” Sansa whispered. “If you want it, of course.”

The man nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“I should go now,” Sansa said, expecting at least some response. “I… I wish you luck. I’m sure you’ll win the tourney.”

The man didn’t even nod this time.

Sansa headed to the door, trying to provoke the stubborn man, get some reaction out of him. “I’m going,” she announced.

He made no move to stop her. Sansa made two more steps, let out a frustrated sigh and turned back to the man. “I know a ribbon isn’t much,” she tried it once more. “Some men prefer… other things. He did, too. The knight I told you about. He kissed me the night he left. Perhaps you would have preferred that.”

His head snapped to her. He was scowling under the shawl, wasn’t he? A shiver ran down her spine. He could scowl at her all he wanted, he could even growl. Sansa wouldn’t get scared this time. She wanted him say anything, even if he was just to mock her courtesies. Sansa needed anything that would make this feel real.

“Well… have a nice day, ser,” she peeped. She hadn’t got a response out of him, she hadn’t got a confession. She couldn’t believe she’d failed.

She’d have to come up with a better plan. She was even more certain about her conclusions than before. May be Clegane wanted to reveal himself only after winning the tourney? Men were horrible like this sometimes. And he’d always been difficult. As Sansa opened the door, a strong hand suddenly grabbed her and the man slammed the door shut. “What game are you playing, girl?” he rasped into her ear, his voice so unlike any other. So deep and menacing. She could never have mistaken him for anyone else. She could never have forgotten him.

“Ser…” she whispered, still looking at the door.

“I’m no ser and you know it,” he was standing behind her. “Don’t lie to me girl, what are you trying to do? Playing the Littlefinger’s bastard, coming here, lying to me about some bloody kisses… what is that all about?”

Sansa turned around to face him. “I’m not pretending with you, Sandor.”

The man blinked, letting go of her. She’d never called him just by his name, like a friend. It startled him, she could tell. But Sansa wasn’t the stupid little girl anymore. She lifted herself onto her toes and raised her hand to touch his shawl. He didn’t protest, and so she slowly, carefully started unwrapping the cloth. She exposed the scars, so red and painful looking. She exposed the large, hooked nose. She exposed the lips that had once kissed her so passionately.

Sandor had once been the Hound, the terrifying monster always accompanying the greatest monsters of all, the Lannisters. He looked like a murderer and he’d been one, too. She cupped his face in her hand and smiled at the friendly face.

“I never wanted to be Alayne, it’s not a game I wanted to play,” she spoke softly. “I never wanted to come to the Vale and pretend to be someone else.”

“Has the Littlefucker… has he hurt you?” Sandor’s voice came out strangled.

Sansa shook her head. “No, he saved me from King’s Landing, I’ll always be indebted to him for that. And he hasn’t hurt me. Not yet, at least.”

Sandor’s mouth twitched. “He betrayed your father, that didn’t exactly help you, did it?”

Sansa lowered her head. Why hadn’t it surprised her? “He killed my aunt, too,” she admitted soberly.

“Why do you want to stay with him then, why do you play a dutiful daughter?”

“Who said I wanted that?” Sansa frowned. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

The man observed her, completely silent once again. Was he surprised by what he saw? Sansa wasn’t scared of the Hound anymore, she’d survived the Lannisters, she’d now lived for some time in the Vale as a bastard, surrounded by bastards. People used some very foul language around her, they spoke of many unladylike things. She’d learnt, she’d changed and she knew it, too. She just wasn’t sure what the brawny warrior thought about it.

“And how have you been?” Sansa changed the topic. “Why have you come here?”

The swordsman shrugged. “Perhaps I don’t have anything better to do,” he retorted, his familiar, angry scowl finally returning.

“Perhaps,” Sansa nodded. “But I know you’re not the monster of Saltpans. I know it could never have been you.”

“Why? What do you know about me anyway?”

“I know you were the only one genuinely trying to keep me safe. Without demands, without profit, just… safe.”

They stood there in silence, the only sound Sansa could hear were some dogs barking outside the tent.

“I remember it differently. The night of the battle, I…” Sandor’s voice broke and he looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry, little bird, it was so wrong, everything that night was so bloody wrong. And to think that I left, left you to that bloody Imp, I should have never…”

“I understand, Sandor,” Sansa caressed his burnt cheek. “It was a horrible night. And I don’t think of our kiss with resentment.”

“Kiss?” he grated. “What kiss? What in the seven hells are you talking about? I told you I’m not interested in these bloody games, I’m not Littlefucker!”

“I’m talking about the kiss we shared before you left.”

“We didn’t share any kiss, girl, and you know it!” his reaction seemed genuine.

“Of course, we did!” Sansa was a little offended. Was it possible he’d forgotten about the intimacy they’d shared? Why did he think she was calling him by his name all of a sudden?

“No, we didn’t.”

“How could you have forgotten?!” 

„I haven’t,” he shook his head. “I would remember my first kiss, girl.”

„Your first?“ Sansa blinked. „But… you’ve never been with a woman?”

„I’ve never been with a woman, who wanted to kiss me,” he snarled. „They’d much rather have the money.”

„But you have kissed me!”

„Stop it, girl, we both know it’s not true.”

„How could you have forgotten that?” Sansa woofed. She smelled so amazing, she had very pretty lips and perfect manners, people should remember every kiss they shared with her! “You held a dagger to my throat, you forgot that, too?”

„I’m sorry, little bird, I haven’t…” his voice broke. „It hasn’t stopped haunting me for a single day. I’d do anything to take it back.”

„You remember now?” Sansa smiled, taking one of his huge paws into both hers. „You were so close to me, it was entirely improper. And then you bent down… and then… then…” 

„Then you closed your eyes, I know,” Sandor muttered.

„So you do remember the kiss!”

„There was no kiss, girl. You closed your eyes, I left. Someone else kissed you. Some pretty lordling, I bet,” he growled. His eyes weren’t full of rage anymore, but his voice was no less rough. 

„No, you’re wrong!” Sansa objected. “Of course, you kissed me! It was my only proper kiss!”

Sandor snorted. „What are the improper kisses, little bird?”

„The wormy ones.”

„Wormy kisses?”

„Yes. Some men are… worms. And they kiss me. And I don’t like it.”

That seemed to stun him. „And my kiss was proper?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

„Yes! You remember it now?”

He didn’t answer her question. He looked deep into her eyes, as if he was trying to read her thoughts. He smoothed her hair with a trembling hand, but then quickly pulled it back. Sansa giggled. The hesitant tenderness of today was so different from the brutal kiss they’d shared. She grasped her braid and teasingly touched its end to his hand, letting him know he hadn’t displeased her. But Sandor grabbed it and roped the long braid around his wrist, halting only when he reached the nape of her neck. When Sansa tipped her head in response, he bent down and lowered his mouth to hers. His lips brushed hers as softly as butterfly wings. 

„See?” he snarled, an inch away from her face, annoyed with her response in advance. „That’s not as pretty as your dreams, is it?”

„It’s better,” she chirped and kissed him back before she had time to think and get embarrassed. 

Sandor groaned into Sansa’s mouth and his lips claimed hers with desperation that took her breath away. He was touching her, tasting, seducing. This was so different to what she’d remembered! Sandor’s mouth wasn’t cruel today and it didn’t feel rough against her lips at all. His kiss was firm and demanding, but there was nothing cruel about it. Even when he growled, it felt pleasant, and the burnt part of his lips was particularly soft. 

Sandor pulled away from her, observing Sansa’s expression for a moment, then a small, delighted smile appeared on his disfigured face. Reverently, he dropped a slow kiss into the hollow of her throat, and his mouth traced a path of kisses up to her ear. 

He nipped at her earlobe, causing her to whimper at the new sensation. “Is this a proper kiss?” he murmured.

Sansa hadn't tied the ribbon around Sandor's wrist as she'd planned, so now she instead wrapped her braid around his neck, bringing him closer. “Very proper,” she breathed out.


End file.
